


When We Turn

by kyloren_theprince



Category: Kylo Ren - Fandom, Star Wars
Genre: F/M, Smut, just good ol smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:34:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24015274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyloren_theprince/pseuds/kyloren_theprince
Summary: You knew him before he was known as Kylo Ren, but things have changed since then. And yet, some remain the same.
Relationships: Kylo Ren - Relationship, Reader Insert - Relationship, X Reader - Relationship, kylo ren x reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 55





	When We Turn

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a Drabble and then I got carried away whoops

The signs have been there, long before this moment; the red flags had breached the horizon of who you’d become for years now. But when you’re fighting in a war, they get lost to the rest of the chaos.   
“Here!” He pulls you down by the wrist, using the rubble as a shield. You glare at the face you almost recognized from around the rebel base. “Stay down and don’t move, okay?! It’s gonna be alright, hon!”  
You hardly recognized him as he was just another rebel. Granted, you wore rebel colors as well, but it's not like that meant anything to anyone. To them, you were just a scared, little girl who couldn’t fend for herself. They’d all seem to have forgotten you grew up amongst the last legion of Jedi.   
You were sick of it.  
Hands balling into fists, rocks digging into your palms, you grit your teeth. These people were all close-minded, selfish, idiots. You couldn’t figure out if their insolence branched from their stubbornness or their inability to look at you as more than just a girl.   
Blaster shots land further to your right, a tree coming down, crackling like bones under the weight of a heavy fist. When it yields, orders are barked out by one of the First Order troops. But that’s not what has you looking per the rubble, jaw loose.   
A woman stands amongst a clearing, directing troops with a flick of her wrist, voice, even through the vocoder, coming out clipped and dangerous. Her cape pinned securely to her shoulder plates hangs against her back, a symbol of her rank. She was a chrome cast warrior in the field and she was a captain. Not because she’s begged for or inherited the position, but because she’s earned it.   
Still staring, you stand, walking around the fallen pillar without cowering, even as she raises her weapon. The sights stare at you, daring you to flinch. Someone calls your name but you don’t answer.   
Instead, now within ten feet of her, you call out, “I’d like to speak with the Supreme Leader.”  
She doesn’t show any sign of acknowledgment. Another call of your name; closer and much more urgent. Footsteps slap against the dirt. Someones running behind you, coming up on your right side. The heat of a blaster shot zips past your face.   
Without looking away from the space where her eyes should be, your left hand reaches out and catches the shot mid air, no more than a yard from her, while the right wraps around the hilt of your saber, and drives it through your savior's sternum.   
He chokes on his breath, his own hand dropping his blaster and resting over your own, where the hilt of the weapon yields to the blade. You redirect the blaster shot, watching from your peripheral vision as it crashes into one of the rebel speeders, sparks erupting upon contact. You pull your saber free of his body, letting him fall limp behind you. The heat of it burns bright in your grip, the red glow encompassing your being. Still, you keep eye contact.   
“I want to see Snoke.”  
——  
You walked.   
One foot in front of the other, you followed the female captain, Phasma, while stormtroopers followed behind, navigating the sharp turns of the base here on Mustafar. They hadn’t restrained you – there’d been no need – and brought you here with nothing more than a few clipped words. She held your saber, feigning disinterest, but you couldn’t help the quirk of your lips at her inner awe, never having held a weapon like it.   
Despite your confidence in your decision, something fierce swelled and scathed inside you, writhing in the pit of your stomach. It was not regret nor doubt, so what in the stars was it? It was too solid to be excitement, too restless to be dread, and too demanding to be identified.   
The doors to the throne room slide open with a hiss of the hydraulics. Phasma hands you your saber, sparing you not a glance as you step forward, and as the doors close, are left with the Supreme Leader, the heavy mass of black fabric in the shape of a man, and the guards. Snoke’s icy eyes lock onto you, watching with great satisfaction as you step forward and kneel before him, an arms distance away from the man.   
“Supreme Leader,” you acknowledge reverently.   
Something akin to a sneer is drawn from his split lips. “Your arrival has been greatly anticipated.”   
You don’t speak. You only stare at the polished floor, watching Snoke’s reflection shift in the reflection. The man’s helmet turns only slightly towards you, his vocoder crackling with his heavy breaths.   
“Rise.” Both you and the man do as instructed. When he stands almost a head taller, you barely stop yourself from rolling your eyes. Big guy, small brain. Snoke exhales, hand twitching as he says, “Step forward, girl.”  
Gritting your teeth at the name, you walk forward, each step echoing through the otherwise silent room. Stopping just before his feet, he leans forward, long, bony fingers tracing the side of your face.   
Your head splinters with pain, electricity cracking up your spine, your muscles locking up as he digs through your conscious; he browses through your memories and mishaps as though gazing at a datapad. Tears well to your eyes, hands balled into fists and the need to hurl ripping at your stomach, but he told you to stand and by Kriff, you were going to stand. After another anguished-laden minute, he pulls back from your thoughts, chipped fingernails scratching your jaw.  
“Your hatred rivals my apprentice's,” the ancient beast croaks, “but you outmatch him in your obedience.” Your breaths come in deep drawls, forcing yourself not to shake. Snoke looks over you almost admiringly. “You will train under his jurisdiction, and he will report to me your progress and your failures.”   
Now released and dismissed, you step back, eyes dropping for a moment. You consider thanking him, but when your lips part and you look at him, watching as he leans back in his throne, you’re certain of this: he doesn’t give a damn about your word, he wants to see what you can do.   
Snoke pulls his lips back in what could be called a smile. “You will not disappoint me.” But that smile could also be a warning. 

You knew he was here, and all things considered, you should’ve said something much sooner than now. Ben Solo had been smothered under the weight of Kylo Ren, but he still stood the same.   
Free of his thick shawl, you watched the way his muscles bowed and sprang with every aggressive swing of his saber, ferocious and calculated. Sweat dripped from his hair, leather gloves creaking under his firm grip, face flushed from the exertion.   
He’d certainly filled out over the years; shoulders much more broad, chest puffed out with muscle and pulled tight with breath, and legs – thighs – corded thick with power and strength.   
He lets out a yell, rumbling through his chest and making the sound waver as it passes through parted lips. “You’re not–“ he cuts through the air with his saber, slicing through the drones with a shrill of metal, the end of his blade melting yet another hole in the floor “–paying attention!”   
His attempt at intimidating you earns nothing more than a bat of your eyelashes. “And what is it exactly I’m not paying attention to?” A cock of your head. “The way your weight rests on your right foot, leaving you vulnerable to being off balance? How you’re so worked up about what I’m doing that you missed one?”   
The last drone – components wheezing at its barely maintained altitude – is crushed midair, sparks glowing and flickering before dropping to the ground in a sad heap. Kylo turns to you, teeth bared.   
“I don’t miss.”   
Pushing yourself off the wall, you take steady, dangerous steps forward, crowding his space so you’re breathing the same air. You could see it before, but now you can really see the way his eyes burn, flickering and flaring with something just barely held back.   
“You don’t get to say that to me.”   
The breaths he takes sends tremors through his chest. “Go,” he snarls. “Report to your quarters and fucking stay there.”  
You’d done just that; turned silently on your heel and gone directly to the little slice of privacy you had left in your life. You hadn’t even been stopped by any troopers. Apparently, they’d learned you were not to be messed with – it only took the crushing of a lieutenant’s windpipe with a twitch of your fingers for that lesson to be learned. Restless and antsy, you sat down to meditate. Old habits die hard, you suppose.   
Months you’d been here, Kylo Ren teaching you things you already knew, his presence alone only fueling whatever combustion in your chest that had erupted so long ago. You’d also come to the conclusion that the weight you felt when you first arrived was also him.   
“Your presence weighs heavy in each other’s spirit.” Cruel amusement would be the flavor of Snoke’s venom. “A bond you sought to destroy.”   
Snoke knew of your history – how could he not? – and used it at every turn, pushing you both further, toeing the line of lashing out. Kylo Ren has done an impeccable job at hiding his emotions, but you knew Ben like the back of your hand, and Ben was an open book.   
A heavy hand shakes you by the shoulder. You jump, pushing yourself to your elbow while grabbing the intruders wrist and twisting. He doesn’t flinch.   
“Get up.”   
Eyes coming into focus, you sneer as Kylo snatches his hand from your grasp. You taunt, “Where’s the fire?”   
His face doesn’t change, but the hard look in his eye softens, his gaze dropping, mind having suddenly gone elsewhere. It returns with a blink.   
Jaw ticking, he turns, leaving your quarters in a flurry of black fabric. He doesn’t have his helmet with him. Gritting your teeth, you stand, fingers instinctively brushing the metal of your saber.   
Barely having laced up your boots, you leave your quarters, only catching the end of Kylo’s cape slip around the next corner.   
He’s so dramatic, you sneer mentally.   
The answer you get is immediate, his voice low and clear in your head. And you’re headstrong. Move.   
Attempting to at least dampen your grumbling, you follow, only really being able to keep up with the thuds of his boots through the empty halls. Either he forgets just how long his legs are or he’s trying to put as much space between the two of you as possible. With your brain finally coming together, you’re recognizing the path you’re following leads to one of the flight decks.   
That doesn’t stop your surprise when you turn the final corner, eyes landing on the sleek TIE fighter, Kylo standing stiffly at its base. You step forward, assuming but not wanting to act too quickly.   
“Get in,” he says lowly, low enough you almost miss it to the hum of the base.   
You’ve left a little over a yard between yourself and Kylo when you stop, crossing your arms. “You can’t be serious.” Only his eyes move — flicking back and forth between your own — and even then, they remain unchanging. “I highly doubt you brought me here so I can take a joyride–“  
“No,” he cuts in sharply, jaw ticking.   
“–and I don’t see how both of us could fit.”   
His lips don’t move, neither do his brows, but there’s something taunting in his eyes now. Something young and long since assumed dead. “There’s ways.” The barest, slightest, tip of his head. “You’re under my jurisdiction, apprentice, and this is an order.”   
You’re in his space again, pointer finger jabbing into his chest as you snarl, “Don’t fucking call me that.”  
“What should I call you then?” That same glint turns dark, his lip curling back to bare his teeth when he says, “Would you prefer girl? Or sweetheart?”   
Your teeth grind, and you’re almost surprised you can’t hear the way they grit. Your nails dig into your palms. He clicks his tongue, the backs of his fingers ghosting over your cheek, quickly holding your jaw between his thumb and forefinger.   
“I know,” he hums in the back of his throat, the sound sending heat crashing over the bridge of your nose and into your cheeks. “I’ll call you my little thing. That’s what you are, correct?”   
“I am not your little thing,” you spit hotly. Your nose scrunches, each breath barely controlled. He hums again, thumb moving to the corner of your lips and tugging back to where it started. Suddenly he pulls away, all but hauling you into the craft, having barely sat down himself before he’s securing you in his lap.   
“What the fuck! Let me go!”  
He’s flicking switches, pressing buttons with his right hand, the left wrapped tightly around your waist despite your prying.   
“Quit whining.”   
Oh, there’s the numb-nutted, stone-faced, annoying, dramatic, stupidhandsomedumbmotherfucker you know so well.   
Kylo grunts, but doesn’t acknowledge the thought any further. Now taking hold of the controls, you almost sink at his release of you, but think better of it when you remember you’d be sinking into his chest, into him. The ship hums it’s ascent, leaving the secure landing bay, and rushes into the vast everything before you.   
You have no idea where you’re going, and distantly, you recognize you have no idea why.   
——  
It was the jolting of the craft that shook you awake. Entering the atmosphere would do that, but that doesn’t mean you liked it, hating it more when you jump, hands clamping down on the rests of the seat.   
You always hated flying. His voice is in your head, calm and dare you say gentle. It’s almost soothing. Are you ever going to tell me why?  
Another tremor of the ship, your thoughts flitting. Just don’t. The flight is okay. The landing part sucks.   
He hums, the vibration moving through your back. He reaches out to flick more switches, the ship smoothing out its descent, left hand coming back down to your thigh. “Then you’ve been with terrible pilots.”   
You bark out a laugh. “I was with the resistance. They don’t have training.” You cross your arms again. “There might be one pilot who can actually call himself a pilot.”   
“You were with the rebels for so long.” Another button, farther from his reach so he must lean forward to press it, his lips at your ear. “And for what?”  
“Where else was I supposed to go?” You ask in reply, ignoring how his voice went cold, making you shiver.   
He evidently does not like your answer; his hold on your thigh tightens, chest puffing out with what you assume is a barely contained explosion. And he’s gone silent.   
You watch the trees grow taller as the ship lands in a small clearing, internally mourning the loss of his voice, scolding yourself for doing so. You’d lived without him for years, and now you’re getting whiny because he’s not talking to you? It was dumb and irrational and it needed to stop before he had any inclination that it was happening. You closed your eyes, picturing yourself shoving that feeling into a box, locking it, and burying deep underground.   
The ship lands, and as hydraulic systems hiss and lights flash, Kylo is throwing you over his shoulder, stomping out of the craft, and hauling you into the forest.   
“Put me down dammit!” You scramble to put your hands on his back, pushing yourself up so you could at least see properly. “Kylo!” He keeps walking, not acknowledging you or your flailing. You shout, “Ben!”   
Suddenly, you’re on your feet, head swimming as blood circulates, your back against one of the trees which stands as witness.   
“You,” Kylo snarls, his face impossibly close, “will never call me that.”   
“Why are we here?” You’re realizing now that his left hand holds tightly to your hip, the other pressed firmly to the tree you’re pinned against, his fingertips digging into the bark. Every muscle of his is wound tight; a trap ready to spring. You ask again, “Why did you bring me out here?”   
Again, the fire in his eyes wanes, yielding to something lost and young. His lips that always seem to have that slant upward tilt down, a faint dimple pressing at the corner of his frown. His gaze drifts over your face. Somewhere between your cheekbone and your jaw, the embers breathe a new life, his anger rising, welling, scorching through him. So much so, that when he parts his lips, you expect smoke to seethe from behind his teeth, the space in his ribcage made hollow by the blaze that makes him curl on himself, makes his back bow so his face is buried in your neck.   
His hair, running like thick, black oil falls over your collarbone. The demanding grip he held loosens, large hand still, offering no console, but laying heavy on your skin. With his cloak draped over you both, you fight the urge to wind your cold fingers into the thick fabric of his shirt, twisting and unyielding over his shoulders which move broadly with every controlled breath. But before you get the chance, he drags himself away, the movement sluggish.   
“You could have stayed,” he says low low low in his chest.   
He’s still so close, his face but a few inches from yours, and you’re lost in the line of his scar, needing to find yourself before answering. “Stayed where?”  
“I didn’t miss you.” Coiled tight, a heavy breath fans your face, his eyes sharp and focused on yours. For a moment, you’re hurt at his words. He finishes, “You were supposed to come with me.”   
“That’s-“ you shake your head “-not fair.”  
“You were scared.”  
“Yeah, I was scared, Ben!” He visibly recoils at your outburst, withdrawing from you completely. His eye twitches, and you know you’ve got one chance at him before he shuts you out again. “We were kids and I was the only one still alive! I was scared because I didn’t understand why you’d done it — killed them and left me — and I didn’t have a-a draw to the Dark Side-“  
“But you’re here now.”  
“That’s the result of you!” Pushing yourself off the tree, you see him brace himself for your lashing out, expecting you in his face, but you stomp to the other side of the clearing, a few yards from him, pacing. “I lost my mind when you left, do you get that? I mourned you as if you were dead but I knew you weren’t because I could feel it!”   
He tilts his head, the wall only half built as he considers you. “Then why did you reject me?”  
“Why did you leave?”   
“I knew where I belonged.”  
“Oh, bullshit!” You stop, boots digging into the planet’s surface. You bare your teeth at him. “You just knew you didn’t belong there.” Another twitch of his eye and your pride swells, knowing you’ve got him. “You were just a sad, little momma’s boy, but, oh, that’s right. She didn’t have time for you so you threw a tantrum.”  
He clenches his fist, shoulders coming up towards his ears, growling, “You shut the fuck up.”  
“But I’m right aren’t I?” He shifts his weight, and you laugh. “You always were such a kissass to Luke and I could not figure out why, but you just wanted him to tell Mommy, didn’t you? You wanted her to come see you and tell you how you were an amazing son and gush about how much she loved you.”   
The growl rumbles into a yell, the sound an ugly one that rips from his throat and into the night sky. A flash of red, sparks, the heat of sabers coming into contact.   
From behind the bright crackling of his blade, Kylo pushes down on yours. “You think you’re so smart,” he snaps. You set your feet, bracing back against his offense. “What about you?”   
He pulls back, and you’re quick to avoid his brutal swing, sliding, bringing your open weapon down towards his thigh. He sidesteps, pinning your saber beneath his, driving it into the ground.   
“You were a helpless little girl who couldn’t hold her own!” You kill your saber, Kylo stumbling with the purchase suddenly gone. Reigniting it, you point it at his neck as he straightens. “I’m surprised you can even hold that up, little thing.”   
You swing, thumb on the hilt for power, but he blocks it. Another and he ducks back, the heat of it surely singeing the hair on his chin. With a countermove, you let the momentum turn you, blocking his attack with a very old move; one from his own uncle.   
That manages to piss him off further as he swings again again again, the blows colliding with an equal of your own. Sweat drips down your neck, sticking to your lower back.   
This was sparring and Kriff did it feel to not hold back. Deep down, concealed by thick walls, you knew Kylo was an excellent opponent and swordsman, but you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that.   
The fight carries you both further into the forest, the planet’s two moons shining brightly through the trees. Creatures scuttle from the noise, standing on nearby ridges, watching with silent curiosity. A particularly zealous swing comes round, cutting through one of the smaller tree trunks, the scent of smoke seeping. The log tips, coming down over you, and for one breath, you wonder if it's your last. Kylo’s hand stenches out, catching your doom inches from your head.   
At least he doesn't want me actually dead, you think lightly.   
You relax slightly, looking from the moss overgrown bark above to him, smiling. “Oops.”   
And there, shielded from the prying eyes of the moons, his anger dissipates and he looks so much like his old self that you get whiplash.   
“I wanted to know,” he says, letting the log crash to your right. When the quiet returns, he speaks again, “I needed to.”   
Breathing heavy from the exertion, you furrow your brows. “What?”   
His saber is still lit when he steps towards you. Shifting your weight, you prepare for another blow, but his voice is low, dangerously calm for someone who, moments ago, was acting like he wanted you under his boot, his saber through your chest. His lips tighten, just barely, but you catch the microexpression with ease.   
“I needed to know why you refused.” He's backing you against another tree, you know it — you can feel the way the ground bows and spirals beneath your boots from the roots – yet you let him do so.   
“And what is the conclusion you’ve come to?” It’s your attempt at sarcasm, but the edges fall away, their resolve weak under his presence.   
The breath you give is the one he takes; he’s entirely in your space, arms on either side of your head, shoulders touching his ears as he ducks his head. The flimsy excuse at resisting crumbles between your fingertips. He says your name, foreign yet sounding so much like home, so much like a place you could fall into and disappear forever.   
“You’re still scared.”   
The statement hits you like a railspeeder, knocking the air from your lungs in a way that aches. He was right — you both knew it — and on this, you didn’t want to fight him.   
“Kylo,” you breathe.   
The convergence of spirits was something you read about as a kid, but it was more like an old tale, one told amongst the hush of the night, rather than a science. But you never imagined it would feel like this.   
Both of your sabers are switched off, dropped to the ground, abandoned in the pursuit of each other, hands taking hold of faces and smashing lips together in a kiss that has spent years smothered by doubt. You sigh into Kylo’s mouth, letting him pin you against the tree with his weight, his hips on yours. You let your fingers wander, winding into his hair, tugging.   
“You’re not leaving again,” you mumble breathlessly, giving a sharp tug of his hair for emphasis.   
He pulls back, just enough to look at you, to demand every ounce of your attention (as if he didn’t already have it). “If you think,” he says lowly, “past mistakes will be repeated, you’re ignorant.” Part of you thinks you should be offended at that — he practically called you stupid — but there was nothing in you that wanted to argue his point. He drags his hands down the sides of your face, pawing at your tits and landing on your hips, holding you in his bruising grip. “You will stand by me.”   
Another kiss, teeth clacking at the collision. His fingers disappear under the waistband of your pants, and he pulls, ripping them halfway down your legs so you can step out of them. Your panties don’t survive the same treatment.   
He’s grumbling to himself when he tugs his cock from beneath his robes, the head already flush and drooling onto his gloved hand.   
“You’ll be sitting on my lap on that throne.” You barely catch it, barely register what he’s implying. “Gonna fuck you on that throne.”   
He’s tearing away your top, mouth latching onto your nipple until it puckers, his teeth biting, marking, claiming. You gasp, “But Snoke-“  
“Snoke is dead.” Despite the way heat radiates off him, the finality in his voice makes you shiver. “I killed him.”  
Pride floods your soul and you take hold of his face, kissing him deeply. He groans, lifting you up, pinning you with his hips, your legs wrapped tight around him. You sigh into his mouth, grinding your soaking cunt along his cock.   
“Fuck me,” you demand, again, pulling on his hair, this time so his neck cranes, throat bared to you. His swollen lips part, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, eyes shifting, dark, hopeful in the lowlight. “I need you, Kylo.”   
His chin tips towards his chest, a weak attempt at nodding. He manages to line himself up, tugging so you sink down on his length, hips twitching.   
Your fierce grip on his hair loosens, hands and jaw dropping as you whine at the stretch. He gives one slow thrust of his hips, your eyes watching the way he disappears inside you. You moan loudly, uncaring if the forest hears you.   
“You like watching me fuck you, little thing?” You nod, already breathless, and he grunts. “You’re so fucking desperate, aren’t you? Letting me fuck this cunt out here?” Bracing your hands on his shoulders, you drive your hips down, feeling him press against your cervix. You moan, head tilting back. He curls forward to bite at your throat, cursing. “Oh, fuck.”   
Pressing himself as close as physically possible, his pace raises from torturous to brutal, hips snapping, fucking you in abandon. His cock drags across your walls, pussy scuelching with how wet you were, how full. He mouths at your pulse.   
“Kylo!”   
“That’s it,” he growls, raising his head to look at you. The Force supports your weight while his hand moves to your face, holding your mouth open between his thumb and pointer finger, and he spits right on your tongue. You clench and his grip tightens. “Do you think he could fuck you this good, little thing?”   
Your hand is tiny when it wraps around his neck, the blood rushing beneath its surface pounding against your palm. You squeeze, leaning close, willing your voice to steady, though difficult. His lip curls back into a snarl, but his eyes remind you so much of who he used to be.   
“You want me to say you’re a good boy,” you taunt. His hips stutter, the twisted look on his face loosening under your stare. “You want me to tell you-“ you voice gets airy at the end, and you breathe deeply, clenching “-that you’re fucking me so good with your cock. Is that what you want?”   
He pushes his neck against your hold. Flexing you fingers, you feel him swallow, followed shortly by a groan. His hand drops back to your waist, the pressure of the Force sliding, dragging lower until its pressing against your clit, setting your nerves on fire.   
“I-“ he growls, cursing beneath his breath, head dropping to watch the way his cock shines with your slick. He looks to you, pulling your hips out from the tree so he’s hitting your g-spot, abusing it with every rough thrust. “You’re gonna take my cum,” he grunts, almost turning into a moan. There’s a pressure over your lower belly. “It’s gonna stay right here. And – oh fuck – I’ll bend you over that throne, and fuck you again.”   
You moan, “Make me cum! Make me cum, Kylo!”   
You reach out with the Force to cup his balls, your hands filled with his shawl, fingertips digging into his shoulders. The knot in your belly gives one last constriction before it snaps, your pussy so assuming around him as you cum, clamping down, moaning. His tyhrusts stutter, rut, grind into you and, true to his word, his cum fills your cunt. Gasping, you try catching your breath, your walls still fluttering, clit throbbing even as the pressure is removed.   
You sink into his hold, arms wound tight around his neck and shoulders. You imagine he could taunt you for the affection, pull back and call you a needy little girl, but his weight sags almost entirely against you, hands sliding around your middle to hold you tight. Again, he shields his face in your neck. The sweat the clung to your skin catches the cold air, and you shiver, bringing your shoulders in so you can tuck more of yourself against him.   
Years without this – the smell of leather, sweat and a musk true to only him, the warmth of his skin beneath your own, every rise and fall of his breath – made you soak up every second you could get, basking in all of him.   
“I meant what I said,” you murmur quietly, not wanting to ruin the bliss of this moment, but wanting – needing – him to understand.   
“I know,” he rumbles lowly, angling his head to kiss the underside of your jaw, just below your ear. “To you, I will always come home.”   
Your heart soars at his admition. Carding a hand through his hair, you guide him to look at you, drinking in the way his eyes shine, the flush of his lips. You lean in to kiss him softly, and he sighs at the contact, the breath he held prisoner escaping into the night. He shifts his weight and you pull back.   
“Then fly me home,” you tease lightly, the edge of a smile creeping onto your face. Kylo’s lips don’t rise, but his eyes glint. You add, “Supreme Leader.”


End file.
